


Anosmia

by Buchstabensuppe



Series: Little House on the Landfill [2]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Cracker incident (mentioned), Gen, Murdoc has a secret, Phase Four (Gorillaz), could be the morning after Stroblite, feeling guilty, shared memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 04:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12927246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buchstabensuppe/pseuds/Buchstabensuppe
Summary: Murdoc tells Russel about some unexpected side effects of the Paula Cracker incident.





	Anosmia

**Author's Note:**

> Small piece of silly headcanon.

# Anosmia

The first time it happened was on a lazy Sunday, after a night spent in the band’s favourite club.

It was sometime around noon, when Russel was on his way downstairs to find something eatable to soak up the residual booze in his stomach. The noise of Murdoc, grumpily muttering to himself in the kitchen, stopped him dead in his tracks. Since when was the old goth rising this early, and with a hangover no less?

„Did hell finally freeze over?“, Russel wondered out loud to announce his presence. „Or are‘ye just getting old?“

However, when he neared the kitchen, his nose caught an alarmingly nasty smell – something between a house fire and a garbage plant - that made him recoil a few steps back into the hallway.

„Ugh! What on earth is that?!“, he yelled. „Did you burn the trash can?“

„Wot?“, Murdoc shouted from the kitchen.

„That awful stench!“, Russel choked. Uttering an equally awful curse, he covered half his face with an arm and braced himself to enter the site of disaster.

A wisp of smoke was curling from the oven, something obviously burning in it, while a half naked Murdoc was sitting at the table with the morning paper, seemingly unaware of the calamity happening behind his back. Holding his breath, Russel dashed through the kitchen, which was still littered with yesterday‘s empty bottles and overflowing ashtrays, and managed to open the window. Then he armed himself with a spatula and a towel. Yanking the oven door open, he pulled the baking sheet, together with the offending content, out on the floor where he immediately began to smother the flames.

When he was sure that the danger had been banned, Russel drew a deep breath. A quick examination revealed a piece of leftover lasagne, coated with the charred and molten remains of something that had once been a plastic lid.

 _Breath_ , Russel thought. _One in, one out. The house still stands. Nothing happened. No need to lose your temper._ His temper, though, had other ideas.

„MURDOC! Get your ass over here!“

The bassist, who had not looked up from the article he’d been reading, now slammed the newspaper down on the table. „Wot! Satan’s balls! You’ll raise the whole house if ya keep that clamour up!“

„Oh really?“ Russel hissed. „Well, _you_ nearly burned the house down with this shit!“

Murdoc’s eyes followed his outraged hand gestures, and for an instant Russel saw something like shame cross the bassists face, but it was gone before he could be sure.

„Wasn’t me“, Murdoc muttered. „Faceache must’ve gotten hungry in the middle of the night.“

Russel huffed. „He’s not even here!“

That embarrassed expression was back on Murdoc’s face. „Oh. Right. Went home with that ginger bird, didn’t he?“

„And it definitely wasn’t Noodle“, Russel said. „Even shitfaced she’s not stupid enough to forget a plastic lid in the damn oven! Besides, you’ve been in here the whole time! How did you not realize something was off?“

„Fine, it was me“, Murdoc grumbled, bluntly ignoring Russel’s last question. „You happy now?“

„Happy?!“ Russel felt his temper rise again. „The oven is a mess, and there’s a big burn hole in the linoleum!“

„M‘sorry, ok? I got distracted. Now back the fuck off!“, Murdoc yelled as he grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the table and left Russel there to deal with the mess.

  
****  


The second time it happened was a week later. Noodle was out buying groceries, and Stu tried to sleep off a migraine in his room. Russel was sitting at the kitchen table, occupied in solving a crossword in some magazine, when Murdoc entered the room with a curt nod.

„Hungry?“, he asked the drummer.

Without looking up from his crossword, Russel lifted the empty pizza box next to him. „I’m good.“

„Suit yourself.“ Murdoc put some slices of bread into the toaster and began to rummage the fridge. Russel didn’t pay him much attention until his olfactory centre was suddenly attacked by the sickly odour of rotten eggs.

„Ew, gross!“, he exclaimed, looking over to the other man and expecting him to be equally affected. The sight of Murdoc, who was unblinkingly pouring the stinking mess of rotting egg yolk into the frying pan, made him jump from his seat.

„Are ya soft in the head?! What the fuck, man?“, Murdoc shouted, when Russel yanked the pan out of his grip to dispose of the nasty stuff.

„You trying to get yourself killed?“, Russel grunted as he turned off the stove, wondering why he had to explain himself. „These eggs’ve clearly gone off. Can’t you smell that?“

Murdoc went silent for a moment, the outrage and defiance in his face warring with another emotion Russel couldn’t quite pin down. After a while he murmured: „Actually, I can’t.“

Russel frowned in confusion. „Can’t what?“

„Smell!“, Murdoc snarled. „I can’t smell. Ever since … that Cracker bitch.“

„You what?“, Russel stupidly asked, even though the truth began to dawn on him. Murdoc had no sense of smell? How did he not notice that before? „Was it -“ He swallowed once. „Was it me? When I punched you?“

Murdoc snorted. „Now, don’t ya get above yourself. Me hooter was messed up _way_ before you came along. But t‘was your mean right hook that finished the poor thing off, that’s true. Anosmia it’s called.“ He let out a wheezing laugh. „Learned that in prison. For me medical degree, ya know?“

„Huh.“ Still completely stunned, Russel leaned against the counter. „You know, I’ve always wondered how you could stand the stench in that Winnebago.“

Murdoc, who’d gone over to the sink in search of a tolerably clean glass, only shrugged. „T’has its perks.“ Russel watched as he sat on the counter, twisted the cap off a half empty bottle of rum and poured himself a generous shot. „Another one“, the bassist continued after knocking back the liquor, „is to not be bothered by the taste of cheap booze.“

That reminded Russel of the frustrating staleness food seemed to adopt when the nose was blocked during a cold, and he couldn’t avoid feeling a bit sorry for the old goth. He wanted to say as much, but decided against it. He knew it wouldn’t be appreciated.

„So, this is why you keep messing up my delicious cooking with disgusting amounts of salt“, Russel noted instead.

„Yup. S‘ the only way to indulge“, the bassist confirmed and poured himself another drink. „No fancy flavours for ol‘ Murdoc. But as ya can imagine, it came in quite handy back on Plastic Beach. Dents was nonstop complaining ‘bout the smell. Anyway…“ He hopped off the counter, suddenly all businesslike. „I’m enjoying this lil‘ chat an’all, but even though I can’t savour the taste, I still have to eat, so … would’ya mind?“

He poked Russel in the side until he stepped away from the hearth, and opened the fridge again. „Guess these’re still eatable?“, he asked, holding a half empty can of baked beans under Russel’s nose. The drummer took a cautious sniff and nodded.

There was another thing on his mind, and he pondered how best to approach it, while Murdoc was heating up his meal.

„Mudz?“

„Hm?“, Murdoc absentmindedly hummed while stirring the steaming beans.

„The thing with the oven last week … Has stuff like that happened before?“

The stirring spoon’s motions faltered and slowly came to a halt. „Not often. I was careful. Didn’t want you guys to know.“ Before Russel could think of an answer to that, Murdoc’s face had turned from uneasy to impish in the blink of an eye. „May’ve blamed some stuff on 2D. Poor bloke could ne’er recall what really happ - ouch! What the fuck was that for?!“

White eyes narrowed, Russel rubbed his palm after giving the bassist a slap in the back of his stubborn head. „If you have to ask, you deserve another one.“

Murdoc seemed torn between anger and amusement for a second, then he surprisingly raised his hands in defeat. „Ok, ok. Guess you’re right. It was just too temptin‘, is all. And you guys never got mad at him anyhow. That one incident with the pizza arrabbiata …“

„That was you?“ Russel was shocked. He’d endlessly teased 2D for mixing up his pot with the oregano, often wondering how one could make such a cliché mistake.

„What moron keeps their stash in the kitchen cabinet anyway?“, Murdoc grumbled. „T‘was at least partly his fault.“

Russel shrugged. „Well, it made for a memorable evening.“

Murdoc grimaced. „Yeah, so you told Stu back then. If you’d known it was me, you’d have burnt me at the stake.“

Russel fixed his mate with a solemn look. „Not if you’d told me the reason, Mudz. It’s not your fault you can’t smell.“ He paused. „You know that, right?“

„Yeah, sure“, Murdoc replied, but he didn’t sound convinced.

„Never apologized for that beating, did I“, Russel noted after a second of silence.

The bassist eyed him with crossed arms. „You didn’t have to. I deserved it. For messin‘ with the kid’s feelin’s an‘all.“

„Yeah. You did“, Russel haltingly agreed. „But I never wanted to harm you permanently.“

„Please“, Murdoc scoffed. „Don’t gimme that crap! S’all water under the bridge now, anyway.“

Russel wasn’t so sure about that. He still felt uncomfortable at the thought of having hurt a friend. Even if it was a long time ago, and even if said friend was Murdoc. But he also knew that if there’d been any hard feelings, the bassist would already have vented on him, so he shrugged and said: „Fine with me.“

Murdoc nodded, visibly more at ease. The next few seconds passed in awkward silence, while both men kept staring into each other’s eyes; neither of them knowing how to end this properly. That was, until something else claimed Russel’s attention.

„Mudz?“

„Yup?“

„Your beans are burning.“

„Shit!“ Murdoc wheeled around to save his meal. He kept grumbling to himself all the while, but when he spoke again, his voice lacked any real vitriol. „Now, look what’ya made me do! Sod off an‘ sit yer arse down. You‘re distractin‘ me!“

Russel complied and returned to the table, grateful for the crossword to hide his smile behind.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't exactly know, if this is canon compliant? If not, feel free to yell at me in the comments ;)  
> But seriously, I'd love to hear your opinion <3


End file.
